


Missed Messages

by Atlas_M_33



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, the rainbow lights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-10-30 02:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlas_M_33/pseuds/Atlas_M_33
Summary: If Ben Arnold regrets one thing, it's the notebook.





	Missed Messages

**Author's Note:**

> This story is actually super late. I had the idea after ep 39, kinda forgot about it, and then ep 49 decided to kick me in the ass with rejuvenated Shotgun Sammy feels. It's pretty much been torn up by canon now, but I'm proud of it so I'm gonna post it anyway. Enjoy!

Ben takes a deep breath to gather himself before he gets out of his car, before he enters the station knowing the chatter that falls thoughtlessly from Sammy's lips isn't waiting for him in the booth. He doesn't bother to suppress the cringe that comes automatically at the memory of why. _"It's just that you want to know who Sammy Stevens-"_

When he does manage to drag himself inside, Ben forces his eyes away from the employee mailboxes where they automatically drift to check for messages. Anything really important will be waiting for him on his desk. _It's simple. Don't look at the box, you won't see the box next to it with the empty label. Avoid the thought for that much longer. See? Simple._

The trip up the rickety stairs to the studio on the second floor doesn't require enough attention to keep his mind from wandering. Ben arrives at the broadcasting booth just in time to hear one of Chet's many innuendos as he settles into the chair across from the door to wait. He's early. Really early. _You never used to be, you could barely manage to get to work on time most days. The only one who ever showed up early was-_

He dozes, hovering on the precipice of sleep and waking up just as the "On Air" light flickers off. Knowing Chet, if he stays where he is some form of conversation will be forced on him. He ducks past the corner long enough for his fellow host to clear the hall before bolting into the booth and closing the door.

Turning to face the empty double desk, he drops his coat in the chair by the corner before tossing that damned notebook by his mic. Ben knows he should get rid of it, but for all the grief it's caused a piece of him can't part with his plans just yet. _No wonder Sammy left, if Emily was that much more important to you than him._

He slumps into his chair, the squeaky spring screeching in protest, pulling on his headphones before going to silence his cell. The ringer is already off, and he has a missed call. _It can't be that important or they would have tried again._ He shrugs, tucking the phone away. Muscle memory takes over: flip the switch for the On Air sign, queue the intro music, turn on the broadcasting signal, go. The tune finishes. He takes a deep breath and begins speaking.

"Hey King Falls. You're listening to King Falls AM, that's 660 on the radio dial. We've entered day fifteen of our search for a new co-host for the show. If you're interested in the position, please get in contact with Merv and we'll see about setting up an interview. I hope you guys are staying safe on this lovely night, what with the reappearance of the rainbow lights over the highway five days ago. We've got nothing on our plates tonight but a few ads to pay the bills, so I'm about to open the lines up for some callers. Tell me what's on your mind tonight King Falls." He flips a switch on the board. "Line 9, you have the floor."

"Ben, it's Ron. I thought you knew?" The voice, Ben notices, is slightly tinny. _Must be using the landline in the shop instead of his cell. That phone always makes voices sound-_

"Knew what Ron?" He restrains a sigh, swiveling his chair back and forth slightly with the foot on the ground, trying to see how far he can go in either direction before the spring squeaks. He swears it's less every day. Ron's next statement however, puts all thoughts about chairs completely out of mind.

"The rainbow lights disappeared half an hour ago."

"What?! How long have I-" he looks at his watch, noticing for the first time just how long he's been inside. _Nearly 45 minutes._  Before he can gather himself to formulate some kind of response, the hotline begins to ring.  
"What in the world…? Sorry Ron, I've got to take this. Thanks for telling me."

"No problem."

The line hangs up, but Ben doesn't reach for the hotline right away. It's only when the next long ring comes that Ben manages to shake himself out of his trance to reach for the phone.

_That's weird, I don't have anything scheduled…_  "Hello?"

"Hey buddy."

"Troy!" The voice on the line surprises him for a couple of reasons. _One of which is-_ "I thought you were on duty tonight?"

"I am buddy but, well, I wanted to make sure you didn't find out from someone else. I was planning on telling you after you finished up the show, but I guess it'll just have to be now."

"Find out what Troy? What's wrong?" Something must be. Troy wouldn't risk calling while he was on duty otherwise.

"The lights. They took someone before they disappeared."

"What?" Ben's heart clenches and he feels sick. He doesn't understand the dread pooling in his stomach. _Why is Troy calling him? Who else is there to take? The lights already have Emily. His mom is safe at home. Troy is on the phone with him. Sammy is…_ "Who did they take?"

"Ben… I should tell you in person. You shouldn't be alone. This was a bad idea…"

"Troy. Who did they take?" _Sammy is…_ The feeling in his stomach intensifies, hardening and growing cold like it had when they listened to that damned tape from the Devil's Doorstep. Something twinges at the back of his mind, but he can't quite figure out what.

"Ben just calm down okay?"

"Damn it Troy! Who did the lights take?" His heart is in his throat and, suddenly, it clicks. Like being hit by a car, like how he felt when he found out about Serendipity, like when they heard Emily… Ben knows what Troy is going to say before the words even leave his mouth.

"Sammy. The lights got Sammy, Ben. When they went out Gunderson sent me to take a look, and well, his car is on the side of the road and it was still running but he wasn't in it."

Ben's blood runs cold. He knows Troy would never do this him, would never be cruel enough to use this particular tactic, but he's desperate, and so he asks anyway.

"No. No, this is a prank right? He put you up to this. You're probably on speaker right now. Haha Sammy you got me! Very funny." _No one's laughing. The call doesn't have the strange background noise of a phone on speaker. Acting was always Ben's department, and there was a reason why Troy ran the sound booth. He could barely fib about eating the last pancake puppy, much less conjure this kind of fake emotion for the purpose of a joke._

"I sure wish I was Ben, but I'm serious. It looks like he was headed up the mountain. All his stuff was packed up in the back like he was leaving town and there was a file in the passenger seat with your name on the front. I'm on my way up with it right now. I'm two minutes out."

"No. No no no. I… Troy, I can't… Troy I have to go." His hands are shaking and he can't breathe. _Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Can't…_

"Ben! Ben don't you dare hang u-"

He slams the receiver down hard enough to crack it. Had he been paying attention, Ben would have heard the crunching of the old fashioned phone's plastic case fracturing.

"DAMN IT!"

He drops his head into his hands, staring at the desk. Then he sees it. The notebook. The godforsaken notebook. _If you hadn't been so **stupid** Sammy would be in here with you right now, not who knows where, snatched up by who knows what._

Uncaring of the headphones being ripped from his head, Ben jumps to his feet. He swipes the notebook off the desk, and gripping it only by its flimsy paper cover, turns and hurls it against the nearest wall with as much force as his trembling hands can muster. The book hits the wall with an audible thump and explodes, papers flying in every direction before drifting to the ground. On top of the pile sits what used to be page ten, the question "Who is Sammy Stevens?" glaring up at him with highlighter yellow underlines.

All Ben can think is how the question is wrong now. _Who was Sammy Stevens? Who was Sammy…_ He falls back into his chair, and for once doesn't even notice the dreadful wail the metal emits.

"…damn it, Sammy." It's only then that he remembers that he's still broadcasting. The whole town just heard his melt down. Ben leans into the mic. "Listeners, I'll… I'll be right back."

He queues up the longest commercial in the computer and hits play before getting up and turning towards the door. _Whatever Sammy was planning on dropping off had to have been important in order to merit risking the lights_. He's barely reached the door when the commercial starts in earnest and he pulls up short.

It's Sammy's voice narrating the ad, muted by the distance between Ben and his headphones, so faint he can't even understand what Sammy's saying, but there's no doubt that it's him. _This must have been recorded before the argument. Before Sammy left. Before._ Strange that it's been little more than two weeks but Ben is already defining his life as before the fight and after. He continues on, closing the studio door firmly behind him and letting the soundproof foam block out the indistinct murmur coming from his abandoned headset. It sits lonely on the desk, continuing to play the ad voiced by the owner of the identical pair hanging on the wall.

He returns a minute and a half later, trying to shake Troy's grim expression from his mind, trying to forget the pity on his face. _Poor Ben Arnold, the radio boy who loved the librarian, lost her, and then chased his best friend away trying to get her back._

He drops the file on the desk, a subtle mimicry of where the notebook had rested earlier, like some kind of joke from the universe. _Look at what you trusted and look at what it got you._ Ben sits, swiveling his chair to face the file and pulls the headphones back on just in time to catch the last few moments of commercial. He runs his fingers gently over the folder one last time before speaking.

"I'm back Listeners. I've uh… I've got the file Troy was talking about. That's definitely Sammy's handwriting on the front. I think… I think I'm gonna open it."

The first thing Ben sees when he opens the file is Sammy's application to work for the station, but not the version Ben saw. This one says Sammy applied for the transfer to work in King Falls. The one Ben got said he was selected. The second is… _oh god. Is that a police report? And another behind it?_

"Jack in the Box Jesus, Sammy. What the hell were you into…?"

_An old medical file for one Samuel Stevens. X-rays and injury descriptions. Pictures: Sammy with a black eye, lip split and dripping blood with his cheek bruised and swollen. Another taken from the side, his hair matted with blood. Sammy's hands spread on a table with his fingers covered in cuts, one swollen and bruised from dislocation. His back is a mottled blanket of deep bruises that wrap around his ribs, all green and yellow and purple, the way old bruises get when they aren't allowed to heal. An evidence photo of a sawed off shotgun, grip splattered with blood. An interview transcript: "The boys in the bullpen have started calling you Shotgun Sammy. Can you believe that? All this time and this is what gets you a nickname. But that's not important right now. I want to know what happened Sammy. Why didn't you tell anyone what was going on?". A restraining order against someone whose name Ben doesn't recognize and a letter telling Sammy his transfer has been approved. Then…_ He doesn't want to see any more. Ben slams the file shut.

On top of it all is a sticky note that he ignored before.  
_To Do:_  
_1\. Pack_  
_2\. Call Ben_  
_3\. Drop file_

"Oh no. Oh my god."

Ben scrambles for his pocket, yanking out his phone and barely managing not to throw it across the room. Shaking fingers unlock the screen.

"Oh god please no. Please don't be Sammy, please don't be Sammy…"

He hits the voicemail button, seeing the time stamp on the message for the first time. Removing his headphones, Ben brings his cell up to his ear with shaking hands. A pleasant voice announces the date and time and then Sammy begins to speak.

"Hey Ben. I'm headed up the mountain right now, I've got something for you. I'm leaving town and I'll probably be gone by the time you finish the show, so I'm just gonna drop it in your box okay? I hope it answers some of your questions. I haven't shown the stuff in here to anyone in, well, in a while. I've been through some shit Ben. I'm sorry this is how you'll find out. There are a couple of reasons why a big city boy moves to a place like this, maybe this'll help you understand why I didn't share them. I'm gonna miss you buddy, even though… Well. Even though. Goodbye, and good luck to you Ben Arn… holy shit. Fuck! Ben, the lights just came out of nowhere! Are they…? Oh god. Oh god, they're following me. Oh my god. Oh my… Ben!"

The message cuts off and Ben is left clutching his phone in trembling hands, the static coming out the speakers deafening in the otherwise silent booth. The show is the last thing on his mind, and the only reason he doesn't spend the rest of the night staring at his desk is because at some point Chet enters, and with a solemn expression Ben didn't know he was capable of, tells him to go home.

He manages to scrape himself together enough to get to his car and start driving. He keeps his eyes firmly on the road and off the file in the passenger seat. He doesn't know where he's going, he just drives on.

It's not until he comes to a stop in front of the tiny house Sammy had been renting that Ben lets himself start thinking again. Even then all he does is get out of his car, walk the few steps up the short sidewalk and drop so his back rests against the front door. He stays there till sunrise, staring at the file in his lap.

  
He doesn't open it again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So! Thanks to whoever stuck with me through that train wreck. This is my first posted work, so commoners are appreciated. What could I have done better? Was it at all comprehensible? Should I go through with the sequel idea I've been toying with? Drop me a comment, my fate is in your hands.


End file.
